 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
171
FOR MUSIC.
O river, flowing downward to the sea,
Tell her that dwells upon its sounding shore,
That more than all the world she is to me,
That all my thoughts fly to her evermore.
Tell her that dwells upon its sounding shore,
That more than all the world she is to me,
That all my thoughts fly to her evermore.
Methinks I see her wand'ring on the strand,
In pensive mood and meditative dream,
And as she holds a white rose in her hand,
She plucks the leaves and casts them in the stream.
In pensive mood and meditative dream,
And as she holds a white rose in her hand,
She plucks the leaves and casts them in the stream.
“He loves me,—loves me not,”—she sadly says,
“He loves me not,—he loves,”—her voice here breaks,
And then the tears suffuse her happy eyes,
And hope within her heart once more awakes.
“He loves me not,—he loves,”—her voice here breaks,
And then the tears suffuse her happy eyes,
And hope within her heart once more awakes.
Oh tell her, River, she to me is sweet,
Dear as the life of which she is a part,
And say that I am coming to her feet,
To lay down there the treasure of my heart.
Dear as the life of which she is a part,
And say that I am coming to her feet,
To lay down there the treasure of my heart.
172
Pray her to take the off'ring that I give,
And ask her heart, in sweet exchange for mine:
Without her, say, it is not life to live,
Only a death in which for life I pine.
And ask her heart, in sweet exchange for mine:
Without her, say, it is not life to live,
Only a death in which for life I pine.
And, say, I follow soon where thou dost flow,
And that to her my soul's true currents move,
That when I reach her presence she shall know
How pure my passion and how deep my love.
And that to her my soul's true currents move,
That when I reach her presence she shall know
How pure my passion and how deep my love.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |